The definition of good
by whenthemarshmallowmettheslayer
Summary: Harry frees Dobby and ends up adopted by the house-elf. And said house-elf does not at all like the prospect of the wizard who freed him from slavery becoming an obscurus. Originally posted on ao3.
1. Chapter 1

Lucius Malfoy stood for a moment, and Harry distantly saw his right hand twitch as though he desired to reach for his wand. Instead of giving into the longing Malfoy wiped around to face his house-elf.

"We're going Dobby!" He ordered the house elf who had still been twisting his ears as punishment for giving Harry a hint.

Despite everything (and that everything was a long and miserable list) that had gone wrong because of Dobby's attempts to protect Harry something in Harry broke - no, snapped at the sight of Lucius just kicking Dobby through the door.

While Dumbledore and Harry could no longer see the abuse of the house elf they could hear the pained squealing. Harry stood for a moment or maybe two, thinking hard. Then it came to him-

"Professor Dumbledore," he said hurriedly. "Can I give that diary back to Mr. Malfoy, please?"

"Certainly Harry," Dumbledore agreed calmly. "But hurry. The feast, remember..."

Harry grabbed the diary and dashed out of the office with the speed seekers were renowned for. Quickly, wondering if his plan would work, Harry took off one of his shoes and pulled off his slimy, filthy, reeking sock and stuffed the diary into into before he continued running after the pair.

He caught up to them at the top of the stairs of the dark corridor.

" ," he gasped out as he skidded to a halt. "I've got something for you-" and he forced the smelly sock into Lucius' hand before taking in some deep breaths.

"What the-?" ripped the sock off the diary and carelessly threw it aside.

He furiously glared at the book and Harry. It was indeed a good thing that the Malfoy before Harry was not a basilisk and looks could not kill otherwise Harry would be quite dead.

"You'll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Harry Potter," he vouched softly. "They were meddlesome fools too."

He turned to go. "Come, Dobby. I said, come." But Dobby didn't come as ordered. He was holding Harry's disgusting, slimy, stinking sock and looked upon at like man in the dessert would look at a lake of water: as though he stumbled on a priceless treasure.

"Master has given a sock," said the elf in wonder. "Master gave it to Dobby."

"What's that?" Mr. Malfoy spat out.

"Got a sock," Dobby murmured in shock, more to himself than the wizards before him. "Master threw it, and Dobby caught it, and Dobby- Dobby is free!"

Lucius Malfoy stood there frozen, staring at the elf. Then with no warning he lunged at Harry.

"You lost me my servant boy!"

But Dobby shouted, "You shall not harm Harry Potter!" And with a loud bang Dobby had once again saved Harry. Mr. Malfoy was thrown back and he crashed down the stairs, three at a time, before landing into a crumbled heap below them.

He got up, his face livid, and with flair the older wizard pulled out his wand only to freeze as his former slave raised a long threatening finger towards him.

"You shall go now," Dobby ordered his former master. "You shall not touch Harry Potter. You shall go now."

Lucius, with no choice, glared at them one last time before he swung his cloak around him and practicality ran from their sight.

"Harry Potter freed Dobby!" Exclaimed the freed slave shrilly. "Harry Potter set Dobby free!"

"Least I could do, Dobby." Harry said, grinning. "Just promise to never save my life again."

The elf's ugly brown face split suddenly into a wide, toothy smile.

"I've got two questions though Dobby. You told me all this had nothing to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, remember? Well-"

"It was a clue sir," Dobby admitted, his eyes widening as though this was obvious. "Was giving you a clue. The Dark Lord, before he changed his name, could be freely named."

Before Harry could respond with a meekly right Dobby spoke once again. "What is the second question?"

"Do you got a place to go?" Harry had to ask even if he did want to go to the feast that Dumbledore mentioned and check if his friend, Hermione, was not indeed awake. "You know. Since you've been freed?"

Dobby threw his boney arms around Harry's middle, which was as far as the elf could reach, and hugged the young wizard.

"Harry Potter is greater by far than Dobby knew!" The freeded elf cried out before sobbing.

Before Harry could react to his question not being answered there was a final loud crack and Dobby disappeared leaving Harry alone in that dark corridor.

* * *

A/N: Surpise! I made another fic dealing with obscurus. There are two reasons why:

1.) Harry you freed a house-elf and I know you're a just a kid but a house-elf is a slave. Why didn't you ask if he had a place to go?

2.) The reason JKR gave us on why Harry isn't an obscures isn't...well completely true I guess is the way to put it.

JKR told us the only reason why Harry isn't an obscurus is because the Dursleys never acknowledged his magic whilst being abusive towards Harry. Yet (if I remember correctly) Aunt Petunia almost hit Harry with a bloody frying pan because Harry was joking about using magic on Dudley in CoS and Vernon choked Harry in OotP because he thought Harry had used magic when it was just Mundungus apparating. So does that reason truely work?

Originally posted on ao3.

Also, damn auto-correct to hell.


	2. Chapter 2

Dobby is a good house elf except he isn't. A good house elf that is. For a good house elf are enslaved and happily so and Dobby isn't either of this things.

He is no longer treated like vermin by his family, the Malfoys that are no longer his family, and he is bad house elf to happily be free of them. He has a new and kind master though the good and kind (too kind, Dobby the bad elf thought but never admitted outloud for a elf is to follow their master's words never have opinions nor questions and Dobby, the bad elf he is, does have these things) Harry Potter refuses to be referred to as Dobby's master.

Dobby had thought it was because Harry was raised by muggles instead of wizards so he hadn't been raised in their wizarding ways. Now, Dobby grimly understands and Dobby is not pleased at this revelation. The house elf was not pleased the least bit at his savior's relatives treatment of the too good and kind Harry Potter. Dobby was... ill at ease (Yes! That was the word.) as well.

(Harry, being the kind wizard he was, had allowed Dobby to borrow the neglected books on the bookshelf along with Harry's clothes if the house elf gave his word to never been seen or heard by the Dursleys. One of the books was a dictionary and oh did Dobby love to educate himself to better as much as he loved wearing mix matched socks.)

Dobby knew of obscurus despite the wizarding world's shame of them. The only reason why Dobby knew so was because his former master had been interested in the subject. Or, rather Dobby realized, the power of such a parasitical creature those poor abused wizards and witches had become. It was sad fate for there was no cure for obscurus; no cure for Dobby's Harry if such a fate befell the young wizard.

No, Dobby thought strongly and perhaps even fiercely. Such a terrible fate would not befell the good and kind Harry Potter who had improved the lives of house elves after defeating He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.

'Tis part of the house elf's enslavement was keeping the secrets, scandals, and silence for their masters but Dobby was no longer Lucius' house elf. He was Harry Potter's and happily so! He would inform his Harry what might befall him before freeing the young wizard from his relatives that were just as monstrous as the Malfoys. Then Dobby would be a good house elf once again.

Unfortunately that plan didn't happen with the arrival of Aunt Marge.


	3. Chapter 3

"As I expected!" Aunt Marge declared before taking a swig of her brandy.

Harry's nails dug into the wood of his chair. He tried to recall what book he'd chosen to help Dobby read next once they were finished with The Golden Compass as he watched Aunt Marge wipe her chin with her sleeve which made Aunt Petunia wince in distaste at Aunt Marge's bad manners. "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who –"

"He was not," Harry interrupted quietly, his body shaking in anger. Never before had he been this angry. Not when the Dursleys had punished him for having a better grade than Dudley back when they went to school together. Not when Snape belittled him in class or rather every class. Not when Lockhart annoyed him by thinking he knew Harry or when Harry and Ron had found Lockhart packing up, ready to abandon Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets despite all his bragging. Even when he head learnt the meaning of mudblood Harry had not been this angry.

The table went very quiet and Harry couldn't find it in him to give a bloody damn about the Hogwarts' slip to Hogsmead despite how much he had wanted to go before. Now it didn't matter to him.

His nails pressed deeper into the unyielding wood.

"MORE BRANDY!" yelled Uncle Vernon, who had gone as white as ghost.

He emptied the bottle into Aunt Marge's glass. "You, boy," he snarled at Harry. "Go to bed, go on –"

"No, Vernon," hiccoughed Aunt Marge, holding up a fat hand, her tiny bloodshot eyes fixed on Harry's who stared back at her unblinking. "Go on, boy, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash. Drunk, I expect-"

"They didn't die in a car crash!" Harry yelled, finally snapping from having to deal with Aunt Marge for a week. (Honestly, it was a miracle he only snapped now.) Harry was now on his feet, the table and his knees made a sound from the sudden impact (or rather from having Harry accidentally slam into) of Harry's departure from his chair.

"They died in a car crash," Aunt Marge yelled back before giving Harry a smile that was all teeth and mockery. "you nasty little liar, and left you to be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives!" screamed Aunt Marge, swelling with fury.

"You are an insolent, ungrateful little –"  
Aunt Marge had suddenly stopped yelling at him. For a moment, it looked as though words had failed her. She seemed to be swelling with inexpressible anger – but the swelling didn't stop. Harry froze. Oh no. The shattered glass of wine had been missed but this? There was no way the Ministry of Magic would let this go considering what happened last year (never mind it had been the house elf that Harry currently hid in his room then Harry himself).

Not getting the Hogsmead slip was one thing but not going back to Hogwarts was another thing entirely.

That is, Harry realized morbidly as he watched Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia yelled 'Marge' in unison, if the Dursleys didn't actually murder him for accidentally turning Vernon's sister into a balloon because she had pissed him off.

There was more than a good chance they would, Harry realized before he wisely tore from the dining room as Ripper came skidding in. The dog was too distressed at the sight of his owner starting to float away to pay attention (or to be more accurate: to bite) Harry.

"Dobby!" Harry screamed out as the cupboard door burst magically open as he reached it. In seconds, he had heaved his trunk next to the front door. His heart pounded. Despite his fear for his future Harry couldn't help but smile because he was getting away from the Dursleys. This was his sock and Harry wasn't going to waste it.

He sprinted upstairs where Dobby greeted him with wide eyes. Harry threw himself under the bed, wrenched up the loose floorboard and grabbed the pillowcase full of his books and birthday presents.

"Come on, Dobby," Harry panted as he crawled out from under his bed before he went to grab Hedwig's empty bird cage with his free hand. "We're leaving," he told the elf before pausing to shove The Golden Compass under his armpit before grabbing the bird cage.

Harry dashed downstairs, Dobby loyally following him without a question, just  
as Uncle Vernon burst out of the dining room, his trouser leg in bloody tatters from Ripper if Harry had to guess.

"COME BACK IN HERE!" he bellowed. "COME BACK AND PUT HER RIG-" Uncle Vernon stopped as he noticed Dobby. "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THAT?!" Harry's uncle roared as blood from his injury started dripping onto the carpet.

"WHAT'S IT DOING IN MY HOUSE BOY!?"

Fear coiled in Harry like a snake; he wasn't afraid of his uncle because he's used to Vernon's anger but Dobby whose seething with anger that Harry could almost taste.

Dobby who was staring at Vernon like he wants to hurt the whale of the man. Dobby who probably heard the whole yelling match between him and Aunt Marge that Harry's guardians never stopped. Dobby who only has Harry, whom he cared (even before Harry took him in, allowed him to wear any of Harry's socks, and taught Dobby to read) to the point he protected Harry from Lucius, despite less than minute ago he'd been a slave to that terrible man, instead of being afraid. Dobby who performed several spells that wizards would find difficult so he could get Harry from Hogwarts. Dobby who could apparate out of Hogwarts despite no wizard being capable of doing so.

Oh. Well. Those were all good reasons on why the hair on the back of Harry's neck was currently standing up.

"Dobby, please let's go," Harry begs because he's in enough trouble as it is without Dobby murdering his uncle (which he wants to do if the house elf's glare was anything to go by).

Dobby, without so much as a word, reaches out and wrapped his fingers around Harry's wrist without taking his eyes off Vernon. Dobby didn't even try to disguise how much anger he felt on Harry's behalf as the hallway of the Dursleys' house disappears from Harry's view. It's too late for Harry to wonder where Dobby is taking them as everything turns black in Harry's vision.

His ear drums were being pushed deeper into his skull. Harry was being pressed in all directions and he couldn't breathe. It felt as though iron bands were tightening around his chest; his eyeballs were being forced back into his head.

Then Harry promptly tripped with a thud. The pain of falling flat on his face and breathing in dust is a welcome compared to what he just endured. Next time, Harry thinks as a woman screams her head off about intruders and mudbloods, he was going to fly on his broom to London. Never mind his stuff and Dobby might not have fit on the broom.


	4. Chapter 4

After a minute at failing to speak because he couldn't really breathe (dust was all that Voldemort needed to properly murder Harry, screw the killing curse), Harry finally managed to speak a sentence without having to cough.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, his voice a bit ruff sounding, as he got up from the carpet that he inhaled the dust from along with painfully face planting in. Thankfully and somehow miraculously his glasses hadn't broke. They were smudged however.

Harry, without so much as thought, let go of his hold of his suitcase and Hedwig's bird cage. Both landed with a thud which caused the woman to only scream louder about mudblooded intruders but she'd yet to barge into the - well Harry didn't know what the dark and dusty room was for.

Harry with his recently freed hand, that's shoulder still had a book in his armpit, grabbed the hem of the oversized (no shocker than since it was once his cousin's) shirt and begun attempt to clean his glasses so the room wasn't a big dark blur that Harry kept squinting at as he cleaned his glasses. Eventually, Harry put them back on only to close his eyes in frustration and let out a groan. His shirt apparently had not been spared from the dust.

Harry was tired. His body seemed to weigh down on him even without carrying the birdcage and suitcase; more than it should considering Harry was scrawny and small for his age. And last but far worst than the previous two, he'd broken the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry so badly, he was surprised Ministry of Magic hadn't sent a letter (like before) to Privet Drive while he'd been grabbing his stuff and yelling for Dobby.

Perhaps, the letter or even a representative of the Ministry was there now. Inquiring to his relatives as for his whereabouts so he or she could snap Harry's wand like they had Hagrid's. Well except Hagrid hadn't been guilty. Harry was. Though admittedly he hadn't meant to blow his aunt it's just -

The very thought of the horrid things she uttered with her big and ugly smile that was all teeth and mockery. Her fat lips, a rather dark shade of red lipstick that was unpleasant against her face, wet from the alcohol she drank like Harry would water after a day weeding Aunt Petunia's garden. Though to be fair on the lipstick that was just a victim, anything would look ugly on the Uncle Vernon sister's face afterall she was Uncle Vernon sister.

Harry came back to reality and the shrill screams of a witch as Dobby tugged on his wrist to get his attention.

"Would Harry like to find a place to sleep?" Dobby asked him gently. Harry blinked. It was weird how that Dobby looked ready to murder his uncle (so much Harry could taste it in the air or rather the magic maybe...Hermione would know what it was Harry had felt) and be treating Harry as though he was a child.

Despite it being weird, Harry was tired. "Sure," he said though if he was heard over the women's screams of mudbloods was another thing. Why hadn't she bragged in and ripped him into a new one for just teleporting into her home without so much as a heads up? Wait-

Horror filled Harry before he immediately stiffened. "We're not at the Malfoy's are we," he whispered to Dobby. It was a genuine question since he only heard Draco say that word much to the twins and Ron's anger while he and Hermione's had just be left confused.

Forget the Ministry swooping down on them - their corpses would eventually be found by the Ministry if this was-

"Dobby is a good house elf! Dobby would never bring-" there was a pause and the sound of feet - not Harry's - shuffling.

"Dobby would never bring his friend to harm's way."

Harry was bloody knackered, his energy from anger and being in danger had left him. That and Harry had never been known for holding back his tongue.

"You promised to not to try and save my life again." It wasn't a compliant. Just a reminder.

Dobby had taken him away from Uncle Vernon who would've murdered Harry for not knowing how to fix Aunt Marge even if he had wanted to. Dobby cared. He'd always cared even before they were secretly roommates. Why was still beyond Harry.

Dobby instead of giving an answer led Harry out of the room. The bird cage and suit case still dumped on the floor and left there as they exited the room. The hallway was dark too. Perhaps it was because it was night time and there were no lights on. Or rather candles burning since this was a witch's house.

Yet, Harry couldn't help but think, there had been dust as they slowly but surely climbed the steps. The witch by now had stopped screaming off the top of her lungs. Harry appreciated it just like he'd appreciate being done climbing the stairs of whenever they were.

It turnt out that was one more minute. They reached topmost landing where- Harry squinted his eyes even though it was dark and his glasses were dirty. It looked like two doors but he wasn't sure and perfectly honest he didn't care. His feet ached, his body weighed down on him, and there was not much energy left in him. At this point he didn't care he was going to have to sleep in oversized dirty shirt and jeans that only fit because of a belt. He had no clothes besides his Hogwarts robes (normally Harry would have packed some of the clothes in his trunk before he left for the train station but that didn't happen) and they'd been left in some room that were at the bottom of the stairs.

Dobby choose a door and lead him towards it. His longer fingers still wrapped around Harry's wrist as he tugged Harry forward. Thankfully Harry didn't stumble as Dobby, who had to stand on his tip toes to reach the doorknob, opened the door to what was hopefully a bedroom.

Yes it was. Harry briefly closed his eyes and mumbled a thank you to someone - anyone - out there before opening them. He and Dobby made their way to what look like the outline of a large bed.

Harry, without any grace whatsoever, fell back on the mattress with a soft thud. Despite how comfy it was without any sheets or covers, Harry got up from laying on the mattress. He reached down to pick up Dobby only for what looked like the house elf shaking his head in the dark.

"Dobby has work to do then Dobby will go to sleep," Dobby told Harry. Despite being small Dobby made his way across the dark room rather quickly before shutting the door without banding it.

Harry stared at ceiling even though he couldn't see it in dark. He was shivering, he noted. Was it because there was no sheets or covers on the bed or because of fear of his future? His future without Ron and Hermione; without attending Hogwarts. With his wand just snapped. Despite having weeded Aunt Petunia's garden every summer since he was seven Harry doubted Dumbledore would let Hagrid take Harry on as an apprentice. That was if Harry wasn't arrested or outlawed from the wizarding world because he'd used such big magic on a muggle.

His heart felt heavier than his body. His hands slid under his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. His fingers were wet but Harry didn't cry even in this empty room. Perhaps he was too tired to cry.

Eventually, Harry fell asleep. His dream ending with him jumping out of a window and breaking his neck. Funnily the most memorable thing besides the ending was his hair. It had the been the same shade as Lockhart's instead of the sweaty black haired mess that it normally was.

Eventually Harry opened his eyes only to quickly shut them again with a groan. It was morning. While not very bright there was some light just beginning to stream in the room and that light had been enough for Harry to close his eyes. Warily, he did open them again to peer at the strange room. The first thing he noticed were the faded scarlet and gold banners; Gryffindor banners. For some reason that made Harry feel easier being here - wherever here was.

The second thing he noticed was furry grey cover that'd been draped over him sometime when he'd been a sleep. Dobby's work most certainly. The next thing was the fact his glasses were off his nose.

Despite the comfort of the bed Harry slipped out of it. Though he did grab the cover and wrap it around him since it was a bit frigid in the neglected room. He was still wearing sneakers so thankfully he couldn't feel if the floor.

Harry frowned. He could have sworn he'd heard a woman screaming her head off last night but the state of the dust covered chandelier and the rest of the house made Harry doubt it. Perhaps he dreamt it along with the bears and golden hair.

Besides the banners, the walls of the room were plastered with muggle motorcycles. Most with girls in bikinis. Like that one magazine Harry had seen his cousin once sneak in the house. The reason Harry could tell they were muggle girls and posters was because they remained frozen within their pictures. Their smiles were stationary and eyes unseeing unlike wizard photos and portraits Harry had came across during the times he spent in the wizarding world.

The only wizarding photo on the room was - Harry squinted his eyes and made his way farther from the door so he could see if he was right. It was a photo of Hogwarts students, all Gryffindors, standing arm in arm as they laughed at the camera.

But that wasn't had Harry feeling as though he'd been petrified.

His heart pounding in his chest, "Dad?" Harry croaked out as he stared at the messy haired teenager that, while older, looked just like him. Except his eyes. Harry had often been told he had his mother's eyes.

Harry lifted his hand. Fingers at the edge of the photo as he tried to gently tug it of the wall to no avail. It had to been spelled on there since Harry couldn't see any tape on it. The realization made Harry frown. A desperate part of him wanted to keep having a tug of war with the photo but Harry still didn't know where he was.

Eventually Harry removed his hand from the worn photo. His eyes lingering. Hoping. Silently pleading it might just fall off so Harry could keep it with him even though it wasn't his. The thought of perhaps there was more about his father in this room was what made Harry forget all about being in this strange house and Dobby.

There was a desk in the room near the door. Hurriedly Harry made his way towards it, the cover still wrapped around him. The desk had several books stacked together and a few papers. Harry sat down the chair and it made a sound of protest. The first paper was a ripped out page of an old edition of A History of Magic. The second being a small and thin muggle motorcycle maintenance manual. The third paper was handwritten and crumpled. Gently Harry smoothed it out before bringing it close to his face so he could read it.

 **Dear Padfoot,**

 **Thank you, thank you, for Harry's birthday present! It was his favorite by far. One year old and already zooming along on a toy broomstick, he looked so pleased with himself. I'm enclosing a picture so you can see. You know it only rises about two feet off the ground but he nearly killed the cat and he smashed a horrible vase Petunia sent me for Christmas (no complaints there).**

His mom, Harry realized. His hands holding ever so more tight on the letter that it was miracle it didn't rip. His mom had sent this letter. A letter Harry could keep. A letter not glued to its desk unlike the photo on the wall. Harry felt a sort of joy he hadn't ever experienced before in his life. He couldn't quite get over that his mom - a women standing right behind his reflection. She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes - her eyes had been just like his.

Bright green and she was crying but smiling at him and maybe he was crying too because his cheeks were wet from tears- Harry was brought back to the present as a tear fell on the aged letter. He dropped on the desk and grabbed the cover wrapped around him. Bringing it up to his eyes Harry wipped them before he went back to reading his mom's letter.

 **Of course James thought it was so funny, says he's going to be a great Quidditch player but we've had to pack away all the ornaments and make sure we don't take our eyes off him when he gets going. We had a very quiet birthday tea, just us and old Bathilda who has always been sweet to us and who dotes on Harry. We were so sorry you couldn't come, but the Order's got to come first, and Harry's not old enough to know it's his birthday anyway!**

 **James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell – also Dumbledore's still got his Invisibility Cloak, so no chance of little excursions. If you could visit, it would cheer him up so much. Wormy was here last weekend. I thought he seemed down, but that was probably the next about the McKinnons; I cried all evening when I heard. Bathilda drops in most days, she's a fascinating old thing with the most amazing stories about Dumbledore. I'm not sure he'd be pleased if he knew! I don't know how much to believe, actually because it seems incredible that Dumbledore –**

Harry felt quite numb and cold despite the cover wrapped around him as he finished the last of the miraculous paper that was treasured in his fingers. He leaned back on the chair and tried to breathe in the room's cold air in as all the information sunk in. Eventually he'll get up and leave the room. Find Dobby and learn where he was but that was eventually. Right now Harry could only think of how they had a cat. How he'd broken Aunt Petunia's vase. Last but not least what happened to the Sirius the letter mentioned. Maybe he could tell Harry about his parents besides Harry looking like his dad and having his mom's eyes.

If, Harry realized, he was still alive.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry could barely hear the creak of protest the old and last wooden step of the staircase gave over the argument taking place in one of the rooms on the main floor. Dobby and whoever he was arguing with were not-quite-yelling- at each other but their voices were most definitely not inside voices. Which was odd because this was Dobby and not much more than that needed to be said about the house elf and arguing.

Harry could have stayed on the bottom of the stairs, the cover Dobby had given him last night still wrapped around him making him look quite like a walking blanket burrito, listening (or to be accurate eavesdropping - an admittedly habit of his) in on the conversation but he didn't. His mother's letter despite actually being very light in weight laid heavy in the pocket of Harry's oversized jeans where it had been gently put at. The letter and, along with the photo pretty much spelled glued on the wall, also weighed heavy on Harry's mind.

The floor unlike the staircase didn't creak under Harry's weight. As he walked away from the stairs and closer to the doors, Harry listened to the conversation, trying to figure out which room Dobby and the stranger were in. The stranger, Harry noted, did not have the same voice as the woman from last night who had screamed her head off. Perhaps he had dreamt of her like the bears and breaking his neck. The screech of her voice and her words most certainly had been the same theme of last night's dreams: unpleasantness.

Harry grasped the cold metal doorknob and opened it. The door opened with a creak of protest. Dobby, his usually clean baby blue pillowcase and mix matched socks were covered in dirt, and another house elf eerily turned their heads towards him in unison. The other house elf was far older and wrinkly than Dobby. He wore a filthy rag tied like a loincloth around his middle but otherwise was naked. Dobby too wore something, an old pillowcase of Dudley's that Harry had given him, around his middle but he wore two different socks on his feet. One time during the summer Dobby had even sort-of wrapped a t-shirt around his head like a turban; Harry had vetoed that the moment he walked in his room and saw it. His mouth had formed a frown at the sight along with memories of Defense Against The Dark Arts professor that had hidden Voldemort behind his head because of that turban.

Dobby's look of annoyance, unlike the stranger's, disappeared the moment he creepily turned his head to the direction of the door Harry had just opened. In it's place Dobby gave Harry a smile that could replace the sun with its brightness. Harry crossed his arms under the blanket, uncomfortable in his own skin at such a smile being directed at him. Despite this he gave a weak smile in return. Somehow Dobby's smile grew. Harry had faced his parents' murderer, giant spiders that had wanted to eat Ron and him, and last but not least a huge snake that could kill him if Harry had looked it in the eyes. Because of these things and the picture in his pocket Harry didn't step back.

"Did Harry sleep good?" Dobby inquired in a hopeful tone. Like he hadn't been in an viscous sounding argument that Harry could understand as much as he could understand Greek.

"Yeah," Harry croaked out to Dobby but his eyes on the older elf in the dinning room with them.

"Kreacher," Kreacher told Harry with a nasty frown on his face.

"The son of a mud-blood whore and pure blood traitor. And a freed house elf in mistress' house," Kreacher all but wailed in misery. "Oh what would my poor mistress say if she knew?"

Harry stared, his short nails digging into his skinny elbows, with a very dangerously thin frown. Harry didn't know what whore meant but he knew mudblood was a nasty word to refer to wizards and witchs like Hermione and his mom. Whore probably wasn't a nice word either. If the alarmed look on Dobby's face was anything to go by Harry was right.

"Bad Kreacher!" Dobby all but yelled - actually no that was a yell - at the other house elf. "Harry's mother was not a whore," Dobby berated the other house elf. "Kreacher should not say such horrid thin-"

"Kreacher does not listen to house elf that will not proudly hang on the walls of the great Malfoy's home!" Dobby raised his hands towards face, his eyes downcast, fingers twitching as if he was wishing to yank on his ears. Rather it be punishment or distress from the argument Harry didn't know as he leaned on his toes, ready to pounce forward for Dobby.

Also great Malfoys? Harry, for the not the first and probably not the last, didn't know what was going on. He was pretty sure he didn't want to know though. It was like he was a unwitting observer of a rather disturbing tennis match that he didn't really understand. He only understood neither house elf wanted to lose to the other.

Dobby, who had pointedly been staring at his socks since Kreacher's words, finally spoke. "Perhaps Dobby shall hang on his friends' wall instead of his slave owners," he muttered softly, his eyes still downcast.

Apparently that meant something to Kreacher who didn't quite stomp out (because house elves couldn't really stomp) but did try his best (a for effort, Harry would have told him if he liked the house elf) all the while muttering to himself about his mistress' wall and traitor elves. That and...threatening to blast Dobby's head off the wall himself so not to disgrace his mistress' home?

The feeling of confusion was once again Harry's companion that he didn't want. Awkwardly, Harry shoved his hands in his jeans pockets only to realize, or rather to remember, with eyes wide in horror what was in his pocket. Hurriedly, heart pounding his chest Harry pulled out the letter to check for damage. He unfolded it before letting out a sigh of a relief. There was no damage. Harry gently folded the letter back up before putting it back in his pocket.

Dobby despite his eyes squinting in curiosity didn't say anything. ...Dobby just waited for something from Harry.

Harry wasn't used to silence. Often if Ron wasn't chattering Hermione would be telling them something or asking them if they ever got around to reading A Hogwarts A History and that they should since they hadn't. The memories of his friends made Harry smile softly. He missed them. Hopefully Hedwig would be able to find him soon; she always found who he wrote to so, Harry figured, she could find him too.

"Where did you take us Dobby?" Harry finally asked before pulling out a chair and sitting on. He didn't lean back on it though instead he just pulled the cover tighter across him.

"The great and noble house of Black," Dobby told him. The words or rather "great and noble" sounded recited. Harry raised an eyebrow and squinted at Dobby; he had yet to find where Dobby had put his glasses.

"Why are we here?"

Dobby, hesitant and clearly nervous, slowly looked up at Harry. "Dobby has been planning to take Harry here for sometime now once he got the signature from his not kind aunt and uncle."

The eyebrow climbed, almost reaching Harry's hair that he hadn't even tried to comb before coming down stairs.

"Dobby," Harry's tone was flat and tired (surprisingly Harry did not get a good night sleep from dreaming of bears chasing after him, having Lockhart's hair, and then proceeding to break his neck when trying to escape the bears from a window).

Dobby shifted his feet. "Keeping 'dirty laundry' from airing 'tis part of the house elf's enslavement but Dobby is no longer an enslaved house elf. They're called obscurus."

"A what?" Harry asked, eyebrow no longer climbing towards his hair but knitted together with the other one in confusion.

"An obscurus - there is no cure. Dobby wanted to be a good house elf again. Dobby did not want such a terrible fate to befall the great and kind Harry Potter," Dobby once again shifted his feet in nervousness.

"Now Dobby doesn't want his friend to have such a fate," the house elf confessed in a small voice.

"How would I become an obscuru- one of those things?"

"Magical children who are abused for their magic often become one."

Harry winced, his eyebrows knit even tighter than before. "I'm not-" The word abused weighed heavy on his tongue.

"I don't like Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, or Dudley and the feeling more than mutual but I'm not-"

Dobby stared at him. It was more than just unnerving. "Hitting sir with a frying pan isn't abuse?"

Harry winced. He'd forgotten Dobby had been in the garden that day (his birthday). Abuse was constant. It was black eye and busted lips on wives or kids. It wasn't admittedly nice clothes that didn't fit Harry. It wasn't sleeping in a cupboard. Harry would have gladly take an orphanage before he learnt Tom Riddle - I am Lord Voldemort - had once been in one but that didn't mean he was abused. They had lied before telling him not to ask questions. They had try to keep him from Hogwarts. They didn't like him. He didn't like them either.

That didn't mean- if the look on Dobby's face was anything to by he wouldn't believe anything Harry would try to put into a sentence much less sentences. He winced once again, his nails painfully digging into his elbows.

Finally he spoke but not on the matter. It was on the matter before, the verbal tennis match he walked in on.

"No, Dobby. Friends don't put their friend's head on a wall. They bury their friend."


	6. Chapter 6

Abused.

The word is on repeat; it's like a carousel, something Harry has never seen in person only on the Dursleys' living room tv, in Harry's mind ever since he left the dinning room (since he left Dobby). It weighs heavy in his chest and mind. And Harry can't do this-

It's weird and suffocating. This strange new freedom of being at Black's home that's been shoved unto Harry. He doesn't know what to do with it. As far as he can tell through his mindless wanderings of the dusty house no one but Kreacher has lived here for years. The dust and cob webs make Harry's fingers twitch; Aunt Petunia would have a fit if she ever saw her home in this state. There's a part of Harry that wants to hide the photo in-between the mattress and bed before finding the supply closet and just cleaning. Cleaning is not comfort to Harry but it's something to do besides wandering about and wondering about his future. His fears gnawing at him, demanding for Harry to panic about no longer going to Hogwarts - seeing Hermione and Ron - and no longer being a wizard once they snap his wand. Would the ministry send him back to the Dursleys? If the Dursleys would still - the word isn't want but rather...deal with him?

And if they did what would Harry do? The idea of living with the Dursleys a full year again was something Harry couldn't deal with now that he knew what it was like to live without his aunt and uncle. He would take the orphanage or St Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys over them.

Suddenly Harry remembered one of Aunt Marge's brutally direct questions (her favorite way of asking questions) about him during her visit: "Have you been beaten often?"

Unlike last time Harry didn't have sarcasm to respond with. Or have someone that wasn't himself he had to answer to. What was the piece of over used wisdom? You are you're worst enemy. You can lie to everyone but yourself. Something, possibly a mix of those two sentences, like that. But Harry wasn't lying! Frustration was building in his stomach. This whole inner questioning about abuse was simply stupid along with angering. The threat of unknown (of never going to Hogwarts) made it worse.

He didn't really know why he was here at Black's home. He didn't know if this Sirius bloke was alive. And if he was where was he? Did he and Harry's father have a falling out right before Harry's parents died? The other two boys in the photo Harry could barely put faces to since he had been so focused on his dad. Where were they? Why had no one came and whisked him away from the Dursleys - why did Harry need to be whisked away from his relatives? Harry's head fell on the wall with a dull thud. The urge to-to do something was overwhelming. About to burst from Harry and he didn't know why.

His vision was blurrier than before (which said something since Harry hadn't asked Dobby where his glasses were before waking out of the dinning room). His eyes were wet from frustration, dust and nothing else. His nails dug even deeper into his elbows as he slid towards the carpet of the room. Hunger gnawed at his stomach but Harry paid no mind to familiar sensation. He breathes. Or least Harry tries to. Despite it being summer and Harry could remember the heat of it, of how hot yesterday was, here it's cold. The cold that's frigid in the air, harsh to breathe in, and slowly but steadily seeps through Harry's too big socks. Despite this Harry feels too hot. Like he's being burn and not with the spell that make the flames tickle that Harry had read about for homework.

Eventually, unsteadily, with the grace of a baby deer learning to walk for the first time, Harry gets up from the floor and makes his way back to the room he slept in. A room who knows how many years ago was Sirius' room.

When he gets there everything the same and Harry doesn't know how to feel about that. He makes his way to the desk before he searches for a quill and parchment. In it's place there an ink pen and paper. For some reason Harry finds it comforting as he wipes the dust off the sheet of paper with his sleeve.

The pen twirls in his fingers as he stares down at the paper and suddenly (or maybe not) Harry doesn't know what to say - what to write to this stranger his dad and mom once knew. He taps the top of the pen onto the letter. The blankness of the paper seems mock him as if it was homework instead of a very important letter that Harry hasn't even put a word on. He leans back on the chair, head tilted back as he vacantly stares at the dusty chandelier.

Does it even matter? Hedwig was still at the Weasleys. Sirius was either dead or he didn't care. He would have visited or checked if he had. Except, Harry thinks or rather grasps onto the idea as if it were a lifeline, maybe the Dursleys had kept the man away since they didn't like Harry's kind. Suddenly it's a lot colder as Harry remembers his uncle's vehement yell about beating him to stamp the magic out. Harry's lip thinned dangerously. His uncle had never beaten him. Harry wasn't abused despite what Dobby thought with judging eyes. (But why would he being willing to live with a stranger he only knew through a letter than with them?)

Harry glanced back down at the wordless letter. Slowly, Harry starts to write down a word only to stop. Without a thought, Harry bring the bottom of the pen and licks it before trying again. He has to write over the first word a few times before ink starts to properly come out.

[\\]

There's a sharp knock on the door. Harry immediately and without so much as a thought hurriedly shoved the finished recently (as in just finished like two minutes ago) letter under the motorcycle manual. It's stupid. He's trusts Dobby. The new house elf not so much. So maybe it's not stupid.

When Harry opens the door it's Kreacher whose behind it. Kreacher immediately stops his muttering that so softly spoken that Harry would have to strain to hear whatever the house elf was saying (and even then he wouldn't understand whatever the language was). Kreacher with a frown looked up at Harry but not at his eyes.

"Dobby has cooked. The traitor and the mudblood not-whore-but-really-was son should eat before its cold otherwise Dobby shall impose on Kreacher's time and proceed to annoy Kreacher when Kreacher has things to do."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the speech Kreacher just gave him that basically meant: humor Dobby otherwise Dobby will annoy me if you don't and I don't want to be annoyed when I can have some alone time.

"What is that you do?" Harry asked as they made their way to the stairs.

From the corner his eye Harry noticed how for just a split second Kreacher tensed up before relaxing as much as Kreacher would. Kreacher, Harry had already guessed, was not an easy going and relaxed person.

"Kreacher is trying to finish a task," was the vague answer Harry was given.

Harry squinted his eyes; not because he was trying to see better without his glasses but because he was confused. Why had Kreacher tensed up before answering him? Why had he answered Harry? It wasn't like he had to which peaked Harry's curiosity.

"What are you trying to do?" Harry asked even though he suspected he get blood from a stone before he got a honest answer from the house elf.

Kreacher's long fingers curved into his dirty palms. His filthy nails digging into the flesh of his palm. Harry felt unsettled at the sight that took place in the corner of his eye.

"Master Regulus told Kreacher not to tell poor old Mistress. He never told Kreacher not to tell a Master. Kreacher still doesn't want to tell," Kreacher muttered to himself in English thankfully but Harry was still confused. Was Mistress perhaps Sirius' wife or the Regulus Kreacher mentioned, Harry wondered as they made their way to the bottom of the stairs. Or one of their mothers? Maybe their aunt? Grandmother?

"Wh-" Harry was interrupted by Dobby coming out of the dinning room and into the hallway.

"Dobby has cooked for Harry," Dobby enthusiastically informed Harry. "Harry should eat while it's still warm."

At seeing the look on Harry's face Dobby asked, "Did Kreacher say cruel things about Harry and Harry's mother?" Dobby inquired.

Harry shook his head. "No Dobby." There was a pause as Harry sorted through his thoughts.

"What did you make?" Harry finally asked and Dobby smiled warmly before listing off a large meal with multiple courses (Where did he get the fresh food? ...Please let it be fresh. Harry wouldn't even satisfy his curiosity of where it came from if it was fresh.) that Harry could not possibly eat by himself.

The two house elves, when Harry asked them to join him, did not share his opinion. Kreacher looked absolutely done and Dobby shook his head so violently Harry was afraid it might fall off.

Dobby reached for Harry's hand and guided Harry to head of the table. "Harry is much too thin. Let Dobby fatten you up with good and warm food."

Harry raised a tired eyebrow. "Why so you can eat me?" He dryly teased Dobby.

"No sir!" Dobby screeched loudly and wow. That was rather loud. "Dobby would never eat his friend! Dobby will gladly prepare food so his friend won't be thin as a twig. Not to eat Harry. Dobby likes Harry. Dobby is honored that Harry would bury him-" Kreacher made a sound of protest at the news "- instead of forever looking over Harry's home as his head is mantle on the wall but not since Dobby will have the honor of being buried."

Harry, with blinking eyes as Dobby pushed his chair in, wondered where the idea of Dobby's head being on a wall even came from.

It, Harry realized as he lifted a spoon to his mouth, must be a crazy wizard thing.


	7. Chapter 7

**The** **Quibbler.**

 **SIRIUS BLACK: The Dirty Secret And An Escape Goat for the Ministry.**

 **[A crude editorial cartoon of Sirius Black, wand drawn, standing on a pile of human bones.]**

 **by Sophie Scholl.**

 **Startling new evidence has come up in the case of Sirius Black who is quite known and hated for his "betrayal" of the Potters that lead to the night of Samhain where He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated by the currently missing Boy Who Lived (see page two).**

 **Doris Purkiss, a witch whose blood purity shall not be disclosed since it is no matter to this article nor should be a matter at any time mind you, has come forward as soon as she saw pictures of an admittedly haggard and mad (mad here means insane looking not angry, nor in fact insane) Sirius Black on the Daily Prophet. At first the witch tried to give her witness testimony to the Daily Prophet, the most read newspaper of the Britain Wizarding World despite Minister Fudge's chubby fingers being in their pie, but was denied. She approached Luna Lovegood, daughter of Xenophilius Lovegood the editor of The Quibbler, during her school shopping at Diagon Alley. It was then that she was able to come forward without being denied from telling the truth, the dark cover up of the Ministry mistake in the case of Potter murders.**

 **Now dear readers we all have been denied things in life. If you haven't you're either an unrealistic (which says something considering magic) lucky or spoiled rotten. Now back to point, we all been denied something one time and another but have you ever been denied the ability to come forward with the truth that could save a person's life like Doris Purkiss has? Been denied a trail before thrown into Azkaban like Sirius Black, who is lesser known as Stubby Boardman the "retired" lead singer of The Hobgoblins, was? Yes, your eyes have not deceived you.**

 **By testimony of Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, a wizard who "retired" (retired here means forced into retirement) from being a damn brilliant Auror who served during the first (first here means the one before the second, you see the truth is often ugly unlike the lies the Daily Prophet and our own government force down our throats, and the fact is the corpse of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-Because-He's-Dramatic-Or-People-Are-Scaredy-Cats was never recovered which means He might be only mostly dead instead of dead-dead as we all been told-**

"What the hell are you doing digging in my daughter's trash?" An angry, red faced but skinny man yelled. A freshly lit cigarette in between two fingers and no wand in either of his hands. The bloke probably came out to smoke and get a breather from his family.

In the reply Sirius smiled, showing of his yellow teeth. "I needed a bark of laughter."

* * *

A/N: I think two main reason why Sirius never broke out before the third book was guilt because he was the one that convinced James & Lily to choose Peter as their secret keeper and because he thought Harry was safe.

The moment Harry wasn't safe, the moment that Sirius saw on that newspaper that Ron and his "pet rat" were going to Hogwarts he busted out (which is suppose to impossible but remember the Marauders did what Death could not when they were teenagers) to then nip that threat to Harry in the bud with killing Peter being the cherry on top. Also dog jokes. Dog jokes are important.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry stared at his stomach, heart pounding in his ears. That and the blood rushing was what made the scream almost barely heard. He was breathing in frigid air, Harry's stomach expanding where it he could actually see it in Dudley's old shirt.

He was exhaling (he was drowning - he couldn't breathe). Harry's stomach no longer visible against the putrid orange of the shirt Aunt Petunia had bought. Yet despite all of this and seeing it Harry couldn't breath. Nails dug into the seat yet Harry couldn't anchor himself; the screaming was becoming louder in his ears that were pounding like his heart.

Tears were filling his eyes. He didn't know if it was from frustration or this was what people did when they couldn't breath. The roaring was steadily growing and Harry couldn't fight it; he was defenseless. For the first time since having learnt what he was Harry was useless. He wouldn't have known how to act towards that realization if not for the coldness dragging him further. Or rather dragging itself further into him. No longer was he just incapable of air there was no way to get the water drowning Harry out of him. It was numbing his body and was in his lunges. If he was to attempt to get it out he'd only end up tearing himself apart, warm blood let loose into the cold air and his own torn flesh between his nails.

There was pleading. It was muffled by the water but Harry could hear it. He could still hear the terribleness of the screams. He couldn't move though. Harry couldn't save her because he defenseless. Couldn't even breath much less move his arms.

The boy who lived was what wizards had called him. And here he was: eyes dropping as he slid into the fog of unconscious, a part of him was (tired) realizing it didn't matter. That maybe it was for the better if he closed his eyes and stayed under the water. Froze (died) in peace. Except there she was still screaming for help, for mercy. Was she crying as she screamed?

Except there-

Harry needed to-

[\\]

There was silence between Dobby and Kreacher. It was unsettling. More so than the cruel words Kreacher muttered under his breath about Dobby and Dobby's friend.

Harry was out of the dinning room after eating more than he usually was given. Good. Harry needed more food. And that's why Dobby had made it and why Dobby had stacked the wizard's plate so high.

Dobby glanced at the walls, at the warm red and forever stylish polish wood paint. Dobby's lengthy fingers twitch with rebellion, with purpose.

"Kreacher should be more kind," Dobby simply told Kreacher. The older house elf gave a disgruntled noise at Dobby's words. Dobby fought the urge to fiddle with Dobby's own clothes. It was the stubbornness that stopped Dobby for doing so just as the same stubbornness had ended up with Dobby getting to smell the burnt flesh of his fingers in the oven that, after the punishment, Dobby had to scrub. The very memory of the incident - of the smell and how Dobby's fingers had taken months to heal - still curdled Dobby.

It seemed the older abusers got they didn't realize what they were doing was wrong. No, they only figured out different ways to break the unicorn's horn.

Harry had got Dobby away from his owners- they weren't his family that he served, they were slavers and abusers - and gave Dobby a home despite the danger the later might have brought. (In Dobby's mind Dobby can easily recall the thunderous yell and purple in rage muggle that had yelled at Harry and Dobby before Dobby had teleported Harry and Dobby out.)

Dobby had gotten Harry away from Harry's not-family, his abusers who almost treated Harry like most wizards would treat a house elf. The air cackled as Dobby's fingers ached. Dobby stared at the wall of the dining room. Dobby took a deep breath in before Dobby let that air out. It didn't help with dissipating the anger Dobby was feeling at the muggle family known as the Dursleys.

"Does Dobby stare at the wall because he wishes to hang on it?"

Annoyance flared while the anger Dobby had felt for the Dursleys over this summer and still now simmered deadly.

Dobby smiled politely despite not feeling so; Dobby was good at lies, at a mask, Dobby had to have been otherwise Dobby would have eventually died in a mess of twitching limbs from the pain of knives that weren't actually digging into his flesh.

"Dobby is going to be buried. Dobby doesn't want the pride of knowing Dobby will be on a wall once Dobby dies because that - being on the Black family's wall - is not something Dobby finds worthy of pride."

Kreacher's thin lips twisted into an ugly expression. Horrid words of the old spilled out. It took more than a moment for Dobby to realize what language Kreacher was muttering cusses in; Dobby hadn't heard it since Dobby's mother was sold to another family. Bought and sold. Like items or food instead of people. House elves weren't wizards nor were they muggles but they felt. They bleed. They were born and eventually died just like everything else. Why were wizards better? Why did wizards get to own them? To buy a house elf and any future children they had. Get to tell a house elf to have sex so the family could have more?

"That didn't make it right'; 'you mustn't have met some decent wizards then', Harry had told Dobby and now in Dobby's head the words repeated for Dobby. Reminded Dobby that there was one good wizard.

Dobby looked away from the wall and down towards his feet. At the sight of his socks Dobby smiled.

[/]

Something burned bright and painful. He couldn't die. If he died who else would stop Voldemort?

[/]

"Kreacher doesn't like muggles does Kreacher? Kreacher's mistress was a Black after all."

Kreacher stared at Dobby in distrust. Smart. Dobby had stolen every single letter Harry's friends had sent him over last year's summer to make Harry not want to return to Hogwarts. Dobby had taken them from Hedwig who herself was a clever creature and like Dobby cared deeply for Harry. It had not been an easy task.

Dobby had tried to warn Harry not to go to Hogwarts and when that hadn't worked Dobby had dropped the prize pudding Mrs. Dursley had spent the day either baking or bragging on. Dobby had known full well what that dinner had meant for the Dursley family from the time he spyed on them.

Dobby then proceeded to find a way to close the barrier between the muggle train station and Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. When that hadn't worked Dobby had tampered with the bludger that could have greatly harmed Harry. Till this day Dobby didn't regret it. He'd rather have had Harry hurt than have him dead.

Dobby could be ruthless. Dobby could hurt others to get what he wanted. Dobby wanted Harry safe. Dobby would be getting his way.

"Mrs. Potter was not a whore and even if she was Harry Potter is still the only living member of the Potter family. He is still the son of the pure blood Mr. Potter."

"Blood traitor Potter was and just like father Harry will be," Kreacher angrily retorted in that low voice of his.

Dobby stared unimpressed. "Harry was hurt by muggles. He could have become an obscurus. Harry needs a safe haven and this is his by 's will much to the frustration of ."

"Dobby knows what is in Kreacher's cupboard when Kreacher snuck into the parlor room to find Harry's luggage last night."

Anger flashed on Kreacher's face. The air cackled deadly between them.

"There are things no decent wizard would incur. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named was very much so not a decent wizard. Dobby knew of something that gave the same aura that tainted the very air around it. thought it only able to open the Chamber of Secrets but it did much more than that. Why does Kreacher have that thing in Kreacher's cupboard?"

* * *

A/N: In CoS when Dobby was warning Harry he mentioned something about powers no decent wizards would use. Rather you think Dobby knew it was a horcrux (most people who had made a horcrux only split there soul once) or not (they really weren't known) it's the reason why this story was extended to more than two chapters like I originally intended.

I at first had a hard time writing this chapter (my bosses are moving offices and I've been helping with the furniture and last week I was dealing with not one mouse or two mice in the house but eight - 8 damn mice and terrible nights of sleep because of eight mice) but because I couldn't quite make myself like how the chapter was wrote. I usually don't do switching povs because when I do they in the past have been terrible. So I rewrote the chapter in the writing style I've been writing 'I scream too loud when I speak my mind.' I'm okay with it now.

Also, NikiSpade I'm so happy I was able to finally address slavery. I wasn't lying when I said I've been meaning to.

Also friendly reminder Dobby, like Harry, is not, and never has been, a saint. Apparently that was the answer JK gave to the criticism she was given when she wrote Harry using the torture unforgivable. I may not agree with her with several things but I do agree with that answer. I also liked that Harry used them. So often you see a hero absolutely refuse to stoop as low as the villain that when a protagonist actually does so it makes them a bit more human instead of this perfect fictional character.

If I made any mistakes in this author note forgive me I'm under attack from a dog who wants attention.


End file.
